


Next Time

by UzbekistanRules



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: No Dialogue, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, suicidal behaviors, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 18:05:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15587655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UzbekistanRules/pseuds/UzbekistanRules
Summary: It would be so easy.





	Next Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written at 4 am and loaded with Hanzo angsting. Read at your own risk.

Hanzo straightens out the white cloth. It is a ritual now, one he is familiar with. One he studied as a child and one that keeps him grounded now. The incense is lit and set into its own special bowl. His torso is bared for the world to see.

The sword is laid down, still in its sheath but gleaming with potential.

It is not a thing he displays openly or proudly. It was a life he swore he would leave when he cut the Shimada down nearly a decade ago. It was one of the few remnants of his life he managed to keep with him and hide, despite all difficulties. He knelt on the sheet and stared down at the plain black leather, the unassuming handle wrapped in shark skin and thread, the steel hidden within. He knew what he would have to do in order to redeem himself: take the sword and drive it into his belly, cut and cut and cut and cut-

But why doesn't he? Did Genji somehow manage to hold sway over such an important decision? Technically, yes. Hanzo was beholden to him, a life debt that could never be repaid, even with this suicide. It wasn't the whole of it though. Was it then Overwatch itself? Did some of the members force him into holding out for them? He appreciated the temporary alliances he was forced to make, but in the end they were only that- temporary. He could shake them off as he willed. It was not his place to stay with these hopeful rebels, men and women who shook the very foundations of the world itself. He was a man of rigid morals and unshakable philosophies. He was not meant for this lifestyle- a cynic at heart. He cared nothing for their ideologies and philosophies, only of his own personal struggles and he would mire himself in blood and death to ensure his own personal goals were met.

Maybe... but just maybe Overwatch had an effect on him after all. Even as a part of him saw himself taking the means to his end and ripping it from himself, he saw the next logical conclusions. How someone or another would find the body, how they would be shocked and hurt. How they would bury or cremate him, even against his own wishes to be flung ignobly into the sea. How they would say a few words about him, to him. They would hold grief in their hearts for months- years. He was not such a monster as to let sweet and kind people cry over something so petty as a friend's death. Perhaps he may not be beloved, but he was treated fairly and with respect. 

If he continued to live however... each day came a new chance at redeeming himself in his own eyes. Small acts of kindness could keep him afloat in the tumultuous sea of woe. A helping hand, a caring ear, a drinking buddy, a good sport. A lifesaver. A medic. A hand of justice. An assassin, a spy, a sharpshooter, a font of wisdom- he could be all those things for this burgeoning organization.

He had to have the courage for it. courage was something he sorely lacked.

In the end he only sighed and set everything away again. The incense was left to burn itself out, the sheet folded and the sword stowed. The mess would be too great. He was one who would not allow for such a gorey operation to be conducted within the base. It would have to be saved for next time.

Next time...


End file.
